


An Aurora Orange Night

by Kakorrhaphiophobia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adultery, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakorrhaphiophobia/pseuds/Kakorrhaphiophobia
Summary: After Sylvain sacrificed his life for him, Dimitri slept with his loyal Margrave’s widow with the widow (Felix)’s permission.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 17





	An Aurora Orange Night

**Author's Note:**

> Original Title: Loyal Heart and Righteous Blood  
> Felix is definitely still a male but I like to use feminine words on males...  
> This is my first time translating my own work which took me a while to finish. If there are any errors please forgive me :P

Aurora orange—the color of his hair and eyes, the sunset leading to destruction, boldly blooming poppy. The color of Felix’s new bedsheet is aurora orange, like the Dead Sea that Sylvain's corpse has turned into. Limbs surge the waves, screaming calls for storms. They kiss violently upon Sylvain’s flattened body; tears and sweat flow between their lips, salty like his blood.  
While the man as brawny as a bear bends down. The lean swordsman can only just be seen. He sighs, for Dimitri’s movement is the opposite of Sylvian’s. He hears the sound of his own joints cracking. Sylvian had been careful, skilled and tactful; his hands had taught Felix to feel the purest euphoria. At this moment, Dimitri is overwhelmed by grief, messing with Felix and himself. When the pain of intercourse becomes intolerable, he starts to scold him, accusing him of beastly desiring and twisting him like Mercedes’ scissors.  
After Dimitri’s succession to the throne of Faerghus, Felix rarely taunts him. Now, he is loquacious, turning his neck to swing inherited indigo-colored hair on his heaving chest. Sarcastic words took anger out from Felix’s heart, leaving an endless stream of sadness. Finally, as he becomes nonplussed, he almost unintentionally speaks the words buried deeply in his mind.  
“You took away my father, my brother, my dearest friend and my lover…and still not used to it?”  
Hearing his raspy moans, Dimitri stops apologizing and stiffens, putting his whole weight on the poor widow. His tears draw out strings of shiny stains on Felix’s wounded back. All of a sudden, his body shrugs forward, trying to hit the wooden headboard. Felix swiftly subdues him in his arms. Still, the coasting boar hits him hard, pushing a scream up to his throat.  
Right on the lungs.  
He gasps to swallow the yelling, brutally pulling the other’s blonde hair. The baffled Dimitri can do nothing but tightly squeeze the bedsheet. After a while, Felix loosens his grip and tries to speak calmly.  
“What you are thinking is not what I meant.”

That awakens Dimitri a bit. He attempts to support his own body, giving Felix a chance to breathe deeply. He looks at him, the traumatized King of Faerghus. The days of Dimitri mourning for his “luck” have passed, but sorrow, agony, and the names he’s too afraid to forget keep building up. He looks down on his dearest childhood friend and the widow of his loyal Margrave, whispering, “You shall never forgive me.”

“First, it was not your fault. Second, it is not my place to forgive you.” Felix finally has the chance to put his dislocated bones back into place, making the cracking sound louder than his groan. “You are the majesty that everyone risks life and limb to protect. I would have done the same... ”

He cannot finish the sentence as he stares at Dimitri’s sad face. Meanwhile, the king embraces him in his muscular arms as gently as possible. The younger Dimitri would have urged him candidly; the Faerghus King is only capable of cuddling him silently. Felix is as speechless as Dimitri. They had become more mature and more hated by their former selves.

“Loathe me.” Dimitri says.  
“Can’t.”  
“Beat me.”  
“Too tired.”  
“Then at least keep cursing at me...”  
“Intermission.”  
“I will continue then. I’m certainly not as good as Sylvain. I was too shy to ask for advice. Sorry…”  
“Keep your mouth shut.”

They continue in silence. The aurora orange ocean ripped by the two is exposing the cotton filler underneath. Felix’s disheveled, semi-long hair covers most of his face; the skin showing through the gaps is as pale as the filler. Dimitri, almost exhausted, murmurs near Felix’s right ear: “Felix... am I still your princess?”

Felix is in shock and doesn’t have an answer for him. Luckily, the sleeping Dimitri does not need it anymore.

He had never raised this topic between them, so Felix thought he had forgotten about that stupid childhood anecdote, their roleplay in the royal garden. Felix wanted to imitate his brave brother; Sylvain wanted to enjoy his precious free time; Ingrid, as a girl, did not want to be a princess either. Therefore, Dimitri became Princess Demetria with a daisy crown, imprisoned in a log cabin.

As their retinue said “start,” emulative Felix ran crazily. He was the first to arrive at the cabin. In the dim room, he stared at Dimitri’s sky-blue eyes with dark circles, holding his soft yet powerful hands with his own sweaty hands.

“Your Highness, I shall risk my life for you!” he said vigorously.

Dimitri suddenly forgot his shyness, probably because of Felix’s over-excitement. He responded sincerely, “I can certainly rest assured with you at my guard.”

His smile was elegant and full of indescribable joy. They had always argued over different topics. However, at that moment, Felix wanted to kiss him. Sylvian and Ingrid climbed into the cabin and scrambled to hold Dimitri’s hand while the deeply moved little boy grabbed his prince’s hands tightly.

Right. The young prince was beautiful and virginal. His immature hormones gave sweet, floral scents. Now his body is made of iron and steel and smells like everlasting rusty copper.  
How did everything turn out like this? Shouldn’t Dimitri be kind and virtuous forever? Why would he hug and kiss this bloodthirsty monster? To comfort him? To comfort himself? Does he still love him like he used to? Does Dimitri love him?  
Why did he replace his bedsheet with the aurora orange one?  
Why did he betray Sylvain on this sheet?

A while before, Dimitri hadn’t been able to fall asleep, so he had come to visit Felix in his robe. It all started with condolence, and then, one-sided arguing. The cold night wind brought the two grieving people closer; he said he was used to being hugged. He couldn’t remember the rest, except for the aurora orange. All over the place, the color of sunset, the color of the bedsheet that smelled like fresh cotton, the color he could see in Sylvain’s dead eyes.

That pair of unlit eyes does not speak of love or regret but earnest trust. They are lovers, but when they are implanted in nobles’ wombs, the most important person in their lives can only be Dimitri. During a snowy night, while caressing Felix’s rib cage, Sylvain tells him that, if one of them must die for Dimitri, he would take that chance. 

Although it cannot transcend his loyalty, he still loves him dearly. Dimitri’s breathing during sleep has never been consistent and steady, however, Felix finds tranquility in this choppy rhythm. In the state between wakefulness and unconsciousness, Felix starts to realize something with pain over his entire body. He will never accommodate. Dimitri is far from gentle. They are punishing themselves with physiological pain and moral torture during this improper intercourse.

Yet, if Sylvian’s soul could witness this adultery, he would have pity and sympathy and would sigh for their desperate conjuring instead of blaming them for unchastity. If Felix could meet Sylvain in his dream, he would cry without any hesitation. He wants to weep in front of him like a child, which he can do with neither the living Sylvain nor the dead others. However, that night and every night thereafter, Sylvian did not appear in his dreams.

Spring 1191: the Duke of Fraldarius died a martyr while protecting the king during a royal progress. The flag of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was flown at half-mast for months. It was said that the King of Faerghus tried to lead the funeral procession with a cane but was stopped by a lady knight for security and health concerns.

Spring 1192: Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, the King of Faerghus, had a grand royal wedding at Fhirdiad, and it was a joyful, national celebration.

END


End file.
